Category Archives: Travel Musings

Saigon Zoo, Go Ahead and Skip It!

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If you’ve read more than about three entries on this blog, you are well aware that much of my travel revolves around the ability to go see (and more importantly, touch) *all* the animals. Being based in Southeast Asia has given me some fantastic animal-touching opportunities: snuggling a koala, being a mahout for a day, illicitly touching a panda bear, etc. (Click the links for a quick jump to each of those animal-rific tales. They will open in a new window, so no need to worry about losing this one.) If the chance is there, I’m going to take it! With that in mind and with three weeks of being a solo-traveler in Ho Chi Minh City, one of the first things I did was take the chance to go visit the city zoo.

Now, zoos are not my favorite way to see animals, as I much prefer to get even closer and more personal with the critters, but I’ve been to some fantastic animal reserves/parks, which are just fancier names for zoos, but also usually with a bit more forward-thinking take on keeping wild animals. The animal-area in HCMC is called a “zoo,” but that didn’t put me off in the least. San Diego calls their animal park a zoo and it is amazingly well done, creature-centric and education focused.

So, one day last week, I skittered out of work as soon as I could, made the quick dash to my temporary apartment (a mere one block from the consulate- what a commute!) and changed into a sundress and headed out the door, all in the span of about ten minutes. My  CLO-provided map (thanks , HCMC CLO office!) said that the zoo was a convenient fifteen minute walk, so after a brief consultation with the front desk to make sure I was headed in the right direction (Vietnamese street names all still look the same to me- I have not gotten to a higher level of language understanding yet!) and a book and a bottle of water in my bag, out I went.

The map did not lie about the distance, but I may have slightly overestimated the convenience factor, mainly because I had to cross several large streets and at this early point in my HCMC tenure I had not yet grasped the finer points of local traffic patterns. (A week and a half in, I can report that I’ve gotten pretty good at playing Vietnamese “Frogger” and can weave my way across six lanes of traffic without missing a step.) Arriving in one piece at the front gate, I was a bit taken aback by the general appearance of the entrance to the zoo; rundown is a sliggt understatement. Rather than reading “zoo,” the welcome had more of a “so-creepy-you-might-die-inside-park” vibes. But whatever. I braved the traffic to get there, I was going to see what it had to offer, so I quickly offered up my two dollar entry fee and headed on in.

Saigon Zoo (the official name) is comprised of two main parts: the animals and the botanical gardens. One of these was well-worth my $2 and the other was not.

I’ve seen a zoo or two in my time, but this one ranks as one of the worst. There was a strange array of animals, everything from reptiles galore to sadly swaying elephants. The most abundant caged animal was deer- there was a huge dirt area dedicated to a herd of probably fifty critters. (The “caged” designation is key, as other than the deer, the second most ubiquitous animal at the zoo was rats. I saw enough free-range rats to last me for the next few weeks. ) The best exhibit was the sea otters, mostly because they were actually active and seemed halfway happy. They had just been fed a bucket of fish heads (where were the bodies?) and were skittering around from pond to pond eating their seafood-inspired lunches.

But, putting aside the deplorable menagerie and wandering  a few meters away , I found a decent  botanical garden. It was really more of a nice park that a botanical garden (no labels on flora, nothing seemingly in any order), but I’ll stick with their nomenclature on this one. Toss the poor city parks group a proverbial bone! The park was nice. It was filled with benches, a fountain and several smaller parks-within-a-park. It will come as no surprise that my favorite part of the botanical park was the two huge cranes who wandered by the bench where I had settled in with the book I brought along, in hopes of a peaceful evening. (HCMC is *loud,* so any bit of quiet is a nice reprieve from the bus horns, scooter squeals and general ruckus of a quickly expanding Asian city.) But back to the cranes. These two long-legged, long-necked, long-beaked buddies just walked by as if they had not a care in the world and I was just another inanimate object- a piece of the bench. (Did they make their great escape from the zoo side? If so, props to you giant cranes! Run while you can.)

My afternoon at the zoo was definitely not what I had envisioned when I logged off my State Department systems and headed out the door for the day, but it ended up being an interesting and entertaining evening, regardless. Would I recommend the Saigon Zoo to folks headed through town? Nope. But, if I lived here long –term (rather than my current three-week TDY) I think I’d be a frequent visitor, as the breath of fresh air a bit of calm among the chaos of the city would make for a welcome reprieve. Just ignore the swaying elephants, hungry-looking snakes and slightly mangy deer.

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Spa Time in Vietnam

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Spas are not a place I’ve frequented much over the years, but I do have to say that living in Southeast Asia has given me more opportunities to indulge that I would ever have had in Idaho, or anywhere in the US for that matter.  Usually, my SE Asia spa-excursions have been mostly aimed at making my feet sandal-presentable as we tend to do a lot of walking on our trips around the region. A few days in sandals and even the best at-home pedicure gets pretty beat up. Not only are my heels in need of some serious attention, but whatever polish job I did before heading out is usually chipped and needing a bit of its own TLC. But really, my favorite part of a visit to the foot spa is the chance for some cute nail art on my toes, because let’s be honest, I can do a pretty fine job of painting at my own house, with a rainbow of polish choices arranged by color and shade just waiting for use in my upstairs medicine cabinet, but anything more creative is beyond my capabilities. (I would say less than 100 bottles, but over 50 when it comes to at-home color options. There will be some major sorting done on that collection when July rolls around and I am faced a much smaller, and therefore storage-poor, living situation.)

But, with a weekend on my own in Ho Chi Minh City and my planned outings to the War Remnants Museum waylaid by the fact that it is closed on Sundays, I figured my best bet for the afternoon was a visit to a Vietnamese spa. The ladies at the consulate here were raving about the great service and prices, so if I were ever to give new services a shot, this was the time and place to do it. (I’m not deeply upset about my lack of WRM visit, as we spent several hours there the last time we were in HCMC. It is fascinating and painful and horrifying all at once.  Definitely not kid-friendly, it is quite graphic and definitely leans towards the Vietnamese viewpoint on the “American War.” I would say all first-time visitors need to make a trek there, but repeat trips are not necessary.)

With my past spa experiences confined mostly to my many pedicures and my one adventure into the awfully intimate world of body wraps (that was in the Maldives and is a whole story of its own- talk about an invasion of personal space!), I thought I would give the facial a shot. Who doesn’t want smoother skin with smaller pores?  (Actually, as I write that, I must admit to finding it strange. Do we really care about things like the size of someone’s pores? Maybe the fact that it even gets an ounce of notice says something about the world which we all live in, but I can’t deride it too much, as I am obviously aware of this as a desirable trait.)

Sign me up for one facial.

Overall, I think the treatment went as it would anywhere, but being new to this phenomenon, I must admit to a couple (okay, three) of things that stood out to me:

  • How many different pastes can one person have slathered across their face in a matter of forty-five minutes? I count six, but may have lost track in the middle somewhere. They seemed to get progressively thicker and pastier as the session went on, with penultimate layer being a mask that dried into a lovely plaster on my face, cracking whenever a muscle twitched.
  • The head/shoulder massage was a nice addition to the afternoon. About twenty minutes in, I started to wonder how many times my face could be rubbed and patted in a variety of patterns. A face just isn’t that big and my facial was supposed to last three-quarters of an hour. But, it appears they actually do know what are doing! (Imagine that.) While the second to last layer of goo hardened on my face, I was treated to a lovely head/shoulder massage that did wonders for the muscles of my shoulder and back, which have taken a beating over the last week of sitting in a closet (I’m like an TDY EFM Harry Potter!) doing biometrics for 250+ non-immigrant visa applicants each morning. (HCMC is a lovely section, but could definitely benefit from some ergonomic office supplies next time end-of-the-year funds roll around!)
  • Is Pledge somehow a part of all facials? This strange, yet not terrible, afternoon ended with a final layer of liquid being rubbed around my face, this last one smelling exactly like the lemon-scented Pledge my mom made us use each Saturday morning to dust the plethora of wooden furniture around our house. (When your father is a high school woodworking teacher who spends each summer traveling to art shows to sell his beautiful creations, you are bound to have  a whole lot of custom-made wooden pieces around the house. At our place, everything from the lamps to the coffee table to the entertainment center were lovingly crafted in the backyard shop. We should have bought stock in Pledge!)

After nearly an hour laid out on a table in a backroom of a spa that can be found at the end of an alleyway (that’s were all the good things are, right?), I walked out of the building smelling like newly polished furniture with a face that must be as close to a baby’s skin as it has been in thirty-eight years.

Overall assessment: Not bad. I am not sure I’d go in for it again anytime in the near future. I think I’d rather opt for just a straight head/shoulder massage and get my full forty-five minutes devoted to those and have less of the weird oozing concoctions smeared across my face.  Luckily, at just under $15, it was an experiment well-worth its price and one that I am sure I will be wishing were affordable when we are hanging out in DC next winter. (It snowed there yesterday. It is April! How will I survive that ridiculous weather?)

(I have no spa pictures, but here are a few photos from my first week in Ho Chi Minh City.)

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KL Consular Team Hard at Work

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US embassy helps out the needy

The Star, April 7, 2016

By Teoh Xiu Jong

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KUALA LUMPUR: The US Embassy here is among the busiest foreign missions in the country, yet it does not hesitate to lend a hand whenever help is needed.

This was proven yet again yesterday when 18 members of its consular section literally got their hands dirty, preparing hot meals for the less fortunate who frequent Carl’s Kitchen in Jalan Gereja.

Deputy consul-general Thad Ross said Carl’s Kitchen was chosen because it had also helped Americans who needed assistance here.

“Many people do not know that Malaysia has such a place for the unfortunate. There are many people who need a meal, so our ability to help feels wonderful,” he said.

The team raised RM1,400 and brought food items worth RM600. All 18 took turns to prepare the food.

Senior consular assistant Rachel Leow, 51, said the experience reminded her of how fortunate she was.

“I have a family who cares for me, have a roof above my head and I can enjoy meals prepared by my parents,” she said.

Consul-general Jessica Norris, who led the team, said: “We decided to step out of our comfort zone to help. We like how open Carl’s Kitchen is to everyone, serving the community on a routine schedule,” she added.

Neglected by her children, Wong, 72, was among the many who dropped by for a free meal.

“I did not take good care of myself when I was younger because I wanted to give the best to my children.

“But now that my children have grown up, they have neglected me,” she lamented, adding that her children did not even visit her these days.

Strike Two

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Road trip. The phrase conjures up mental pictures of driving long distances with the windows down, wind blowing through flowing blonde locks and a radio blaring the latest (although probably not greatest) pop music, headed off into the great unknown. Ross-family road trips were regular occurrences back in the States, but they usually had a decidedly more nerdy twist to them. Most of our road trips were in search of a new national park to visit and rather than singing along to whatever tunes the local radio station offered (not like we could agree on anything other than NPR anyway, and NPR doesn’t make for great karaoke), our trip was filled with the sounds of narration- me reading whatever book we’d chosen for that trip. Often, our book of choice ended up being one we’d pick up at the national park bookstore on our way out, stopping to get the coveted National Parks Passport stamp.

We’ve not had such great luck with road trips in Malaysia though. After two years in China, relying on cabs to get us around (or our scooters, but they had a fairly small travel radius), I was super excited to buy a car in Kuala Lumpur so that we would have freedom to get out of town on the weekends. (Said car is now for sale since we are leaving this summer…anyone interested?)  Not long after we settled into our new home and routines, we decided to take the right-hand drive X-Trail on a long weekend outing. We’ve been told Penang was wonderful, full of great food and awesome street art, plus Thad had a Kuna High classmate and his wife living/working up there, so north we headed. (How three Kuna High School graduates all ended up in Malaysia is beyond me…)

Penang should be a four hour trip. If you don’t go on a local holiday weekend.

Huge mistake.

Being new to the country, we didn’t realize that everyone clears out of the city for Hari Raya, headed home. Malaysia has a really well-developed freeway system, which I think would work well when it wasn’t carrying the entire country’s population. Between traffic jams and nightmare backups at the toll booths, what should have been a lovely four hour drive through the Malaysian countryside became an eight hour slog, listening to the one radio that would tune in, which ended up being a loop of ten pop songs over…and over…and over…

(I am leaving out the details of the huge rain storm that hit just before we crossed the bridge to Penang, flooding the low-lying roads in town and making passage in anything less than a 4WD impossible. Suffice it to say, we made it to our hotel well after midnight, hungry, tired and a bit cranky.)

Needless to say, after our less than stellar attempt at a Malaysian road trip, we were in no hurry to repeat the experience.

Fast forward eighteen months and the nightmares had finally ended. It was time to try it again.

This time, we were taking a shorter trip- just to Melaka, about two hours south of Kuala Lumpur. The plan was to just go for an overnight, so to leave Saturday morning and come home Sunday evening. That part of the plan worked, out, but not the driving part.

I really need to learn to look at a calendar around here! The weekend we decided to go turned out to be the first weekend of the local school’s holiday, so everyone with kids was headed out for the equivalent of spring break.  Once again, it was us and half the Malaysian population.

Our two hours trip south ended up taking closer to four hours. We arrived mid-afternoon, just as the current heatwave hit its high point for the day. (Over the last couple of weeks, Malaysia has been breaking high temperature records. That sun is blazing!) After finding our hotel and dropping off our overnight bags, we found chairs at a nearby café, had some great chicken satay and whiled away the afternoon people watching. It was too hot for movement beyond that!

With afternoon naps and massages covered, we once again ventured into the great outdoors, spending a crushing evening on Jonkers Street where anything and everything can be bought, if only you can wind your way through the crowd. The evening wrapped up with more roadside treats and drinks, enjoyed while watching masses of humanity go about their evening activities.

Between the scorching heat and the ridiculous traffic, once again our road trip became a bit more of an adventure than we had bargained for. We may have two strikes against us, but I’m not ready to sit on the bench quite yet.  With a little over four months left in our tour, I’d still like to spend a weekend in Ipoh, make the trip to Johor Bahru or even overnight in Port Dickson. The way I figure it, we’ve got one more strike or, better yet, we hit it out of the ballpark with the next attempt and erase those other ticks in the playbook.

Play ball!

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Guest Blog: In Pursuit of Pengins

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This is the second guest entry by South American cruiser, Joyce McDaniel.

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As we boarded the cruise ship bound for the tip of South America and Patagonia, I am sure I heard the chant of “penguins, penguins, penguins!” coming from the ship’s guests, mostly retired folks like me. For who does not envision visiting a giant colony of penguins as well as a variety of other wild life when thinking of a trip to Patagonia?

Globe Trekker and other travel shows on PBS had really pumped me up for the Patagonian experience and filled my head with visions of waddling, black and white tuxedoed penguins jabbering in Penguinese for as far as the eye can see.

Reading the excursion literature we discovered that there were 3 different kinds of penguins living in the Patagonian area: the Magellanic, Gentoo and King. I had plans to visit all 3 kinds so we signed up for 3 different excursions.

Disappointment upon disappointment filled me as first one excursion to see an island reserve of penguins was cancelled due to rough and unnavigable seas, and then a second excursion to Falkland Islands and a visit to King and Gentoo penguins rookeries was cancelled as the cruise ship was unable to park due to rough seas and high winds! Bummed was too weak of a word to describe my disappointment!

I had to settle for the too-cute and delightful towel animals that filled my stateroom. Our steward Jamie made one every day of the voyage; I really enjoyed these little animals, but they were not penguins!

I even bought 8 stuffed penguins (for the grandchildren of course!) at one stop, hoping that they would not be the only ones I saw.

On Day 8 of the cruise we were able to take a catamaran tour that visited some small rocky islands that were filled with blue-eyed cormorants -that were black and white and kind of looked like penguins   They were awesome, but not penguins. Some other small rocky outcrops were filled with lazy noisy sea lions, also pretty cool, but again, not penguins.

I wanted penguins and pouted mightily!

Finally on Day 12, we moored in Puerto Madryn, Argentina. The day dawned calm and sunny and we were headed to a Penguin Reserve two hours away. Trying not to get my hopes up too high, I boarded the bus to the Peninsula Valdes Wildlife Sanctuary with promises from our guide of not only penguins, but many many other wildlife endemic to the Patagonian region.

And I was not disappointed that day! We saw Lesser Reas, an emu like creature and it was never explained why they were “lesser” rather than “greater” as they were huge. Guanaco herds covered the dry sandy landscape blending into their surroundings. They are the wild cousins to our llamas. We saw this giant rodent called a Mara which looks rather like a cross between a rabbit and a dog. It is actually a Patagonian hare. We were able to walk to within a few hundred feet of a huge colony of sea lions, mostly black shiny pups and their moms, enjoying beach time.

But still no penguins! The guide said “don’t worry, you will have your fill of penguins; I promise!”

As we traveled to see the penguins, the guide related some history of the early explorers visiting this area and encountering penguins. She shared that the early explorers wanted all animals they discovered to be useful to humans and since penguins were not edible due to their oiliness nor were they useful for clothing making or any other purpose, early explorers decided to take a burning log and light them on fire. They found a use for them- as a torch! I was and still am horrified. Fortunately that practice did not catch on and the poor penguins are no longer used as a torch.

Our mini-bus then veered off the main dusty dirt road to a small rutted dusty dirt road heading to our final destination: The Peninsula Valdes Private Penguin Reserve. As we entered the Reserve, penguins sightings began to pop up and everyone began to shout out when they saw a penguin. As far as the eye could see, penguins dotted the shrubbery covered landscape. It was a penguin watchers paradise! We quickly hopped off the bus and began our walk around the Penguin rookery and down to the ocean. Here a penguin, there a penguin, everywhere a penguin! It was wonderful. Words cannot describe the sight that beheld my eyes so be sure to check out the pictures I posted as they will give you a small glimpse of the world of penguins we entered. There were thousands!  We were able to walk right up to many of these cute creatures and some walked right in front of us; for the most part they just ignored us but we delighted in them.   What a sight to behold- they were cooing and chirping and waddling and just being cute.

I found my penguins! And I was happy! And I have pictures to revisit that delightful experience. I could leave my cruise having pursued and found penguins.

 

 

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Guest Blog- 59⁰ S. Latitude or Bust!

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This blog is written by Joyce M., retired elementary teacher/counselor, world traveler and most importantly, my fabulous mom!

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If it isn’t on your bucket list, put it there! I just returned from a most unbelievable and awesome travel experience – cruising around Cape Horn! (59⁰ S. Latitude) You will remember from your geography class in high school, it is the tip of South America and the passageway around South America that we heard horror stories about during class!

I have a very vivid imagination and the idea of sailing around Cape Horn brought images of sailing vessels with lots of sails battling their way through wickedly huge waves and strong winds. Also pictures of ships being dashed to pieces on jagged rocks and sailors being swept overboard came to mind! It was (and still is) an extremely dangerous route, but it was the only way to get from the Pacific to the Atlantic in those early sailing days. Now ships can safely slip through the Panama Canal (another cool trip by the way!)

The idea of cruising around the tip of South America really sounded like a once in a life time experience and peaked my interest, but with my out of control imagination, I also felt some major trepidation about whether I would survive the experience!

The seas and winds have not changed since those early sailing ships made the voyage! In preparation of the actual “coning” of South America, we had the opportunity to watch a 40 minute documentary filmed back in 1929 by Irving Johnson, then a trainee on a sailing ship but he went on to captain his own ship! Johnson’s documentary so entranced the British historians, it was placed in the British Museum and in 1980 they had Capt. Johnson himself narrate what was happening in his film. The film was an actual freighter sailing ship with several masts and at least a zillion sails going around Cape Horn. Johnson filmed it over the course of the voyage which took about 3 months. For those of us who love history, seeing the real voyage was incredible. There were many scenes of waves washing completely over the deck and the ship rocking and rolling violently. Capt. Johnson mentioned briefly that 2 bunks became empty after one massive storm! The name of the documentary is “Around Cape Horn” and can be found by googling this title or Capt. Johnson! If you want to sail vicariously around Cape Horn in the 1929, watch this film!

After watching the documentary of the voyage filmed by Captain Johnson, my anxiety rose a great deal, and I expected the worse! I slept restlessly the night before we were to round the Horn!

Early on a Sunday morning in February, our giant cruise ship sailed around Cape Horn! From the comfort and relative safety of my stateroom balcony, bundled in 3 sweatshirts and armed with my camera, I coned South America! We pulled right up to Cape Horn, which by the way is an island, and went “full on” to Cape Horn! The winds gusted up to 130 knots (80 mph) and the waves were cresting at 17 feet. We stayed near the Cape for 15 minutes as the ship rocked and rolled! Then our ship’s captain said he had had enough battling the sea and we headed on around the continent! Safely. And I survived!

I was overwhelmed by a feeling of having accomplished an enormous challenge, especially as I reflected on the history of sailing in the area and the documentary that showed the reality of what the sailing ships experienced as they made the voyage.

Definitely a Bucket List item!

 

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Heart Day Visit to the Fish Museum

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Some people consider Valentine’s Day nothing more than a Hallmark holiday, pumped up and pushed by retailers to add to their retail bottom lines each year. There is definitely money to be made on chocolates and over-sized stuffed animals and roses each February, but if one overlooks the consumer-driven parts of the holiday and focuses on the heart of the day (heart…get it? Clever!), there is good to be found.

This year for Valentine’s Day, we decided to have a little blast from the past. Just days before the holiday, I realized that the first time we ever came to Malaysia was this exact time of year- Valentine’s and Chinese New Year in 2007. We were on winter break from our Peace Corps gig in Gansu and came south in search of sunshine and non-Chinese food with good friends. (It’s funny to look back at how exotic this whole region of the world seemed at the time. Since then, it has become like a second home, with frequent trips around Southeast Asia.)

It’s funny that I often can’t remember what I worked on two days ago, but I can remember that it was Valentine’s Day nine years ago exactly that we went to the KLCC Aquarium.  Mostly I remember this random fact because KL’s aquarium was the first one I had ever been to that had the underwater tunnel and it was covered in hearts for the holiday. I remember watching the sharks swim by the cutout hearts and thinking what a strange dichotomy the rows of scary teeth were with the adorable red and pink decorations. (Some in our party who are getting older each year and maybe losing their English language abilities called the aquarium the “fish museum” when we were talking about going over the weekend. After laughing hysterically, I came to realize that I kind of like that nomenclature better. Can we all agree to call aquariums “fish museums” from now on?)

What better way to celebrate Valentine’s Day 2016 than by recreating our day nine years ago? After a slow start to the morning, we headed down to KLCC for some lunch at one of the outdoor cafes that line the lower level of the mall, looking out over the plaza, water show and park. It was blazing hot out, but that is to be expected any day that the skies are blue and the sun is shining in the city. Lunch was relaxed and laid back, full of people watching (it was a people museum!) and talk of how we would be freezing in DC on Valentine’s Day 2017. That helps ease the burn of the sun. The fish museum was just a short walk away from where we had lunch and we were happy to find short lines, as it was a Sunday afternoon, which is prime fish-visiting time.

I may have loved the otters (not fish!) the most on Sunday, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t find other critters to stare at endlessly (a crazy active octopus and strange little rock fish ranked highly as well) and Thad is always fascinated by the jelly fish, a hypnotizing set of tanks. Of course, the highlight of the day was the underwater tunnel, as it is really the only thing I remember from our first visit, all those years ago. Disappointingly, there were no Valentine’s decorations strewn about this time around, but in a more regionally appropriate manner, many of the tanks did have Chinese New Year decorations, including golden monkeys (it is the year of the monkey!) and gold pieces of good luck (fish luck is important!)

Following our new tradition, we should visit the KLCC aquarium every nine years, on Valentine’s Day, to see the fish and other ocean critters and to have lunch/drinks on the plaza filled with fantastic people-watching specimens. The question is, if we stick with the Foreign Service lifestyle (which is the plan), where will we been nearly a decade from now? Wherever it is, we might need to look into a long weekend back to Malaysia!

Valentine’s Day 2007- Kuala Lumpur Convention Center Aquarium

Valentine’s Day 2016- Kuala Lumpur Convention Center Aquarium

Valentine’s Day 2025- ???

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Never Say Never

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Never say never.

Three words that are good to live by, and yet so often are ignored, usually by me.

Even though I love to travel and am up for strange experiences, trying new things and always on the lookout for the quirky, there is another side of me that is weirdly neurotic about things having to be a certain way. For example, I have these four pink bowls that have cute little cartoon owls on their inside bottoms. I bought these bowls almost five years ago when we were living in Oakwood Crystal City and Thad was going through training in preparation for his tour in Chengdu. The Oakwood-provided bowls just didn’t cut it for my daily breakfast cereal consumption, so one day early on, I schlepped myself to the nearest Target on the public bus and bought a few household items, including new bowls. These were not only adorable, but the perfect size for breakfast. I bought four. These are my cereal bowls and have been for nearly five years; I eat Rice Crispies or cornflakes or Marshmallow Maties out of them every morning that I am home. Four bowls mean I must do my dishes at least every four days. (Without kids, you don’t generate nearly as many dishes as a big family, so have a whole lot more wiggle room on the dishwashing front!) A few weeks ago, three days into the cycle, Thad said he was going to make some soup. (He was having wisdom teeth issues, which have since been relieved by pulling two of the offending chompers.) I knew he was going to grab the first bowl he saw, so I purposely moved my adorable cereal bowl out of line-of-sight so he would have to go with one of the boring blue plastic bowls (which were part of a wedding gift we received nearly 18 years ago!) or the black ceramic ones (which were his before we were even married). And yet, half an hour later, when he came into the living room, guess what he was holding in his hand?! My cereal bowl! Needless to say, I gave him a terrible time about it, telling him I was going to starve in the morning now that I didn’t have my go-to breakfast dish. He did kindly wash it out and return it to the cupboard (probably a little annoyed at my reaction) so I would not waste away the next morning, but the point here isn’t that he ate soup out of the wrong bowl, but that my brain can be weirdly rigid about certain things, usually ones of little importance.

Why does this all matter? And what does it have to do with “never say never”?

You see, we’ve been going to Thailand for vacations for almost a decade now. (We went with friends when we were in Peace Corps, a couple of times for blue skies and sunshine when we were in Chengdu and now that it is just a hop, jump and skip away, a few times for long weekends.) On each of these trips, I’ve giggled and possibly made remarks about all of the backpackers dressed in what I call “elephant pants.” They are not designated as such because they make the wearer look large, but rather because a good percentage of them are decorated in a variety of elephant patterns. These pants are lightweight cotton, usually have elastic/drawstring tops and elastic ankles. They look extremely comfortable, but also look like pants for hobos. It is ridiculous how many tourist women (and a few men!) you see wearing these things in SE Asia, but especially in Thailand.

I’ve always mocked elephant pants.

Until two weeks ago.

When we went to Chiang Mai for my birthday weekend (click here to see a post about our awesome elephant trek), we wandered the night markets three different evenings. Of course, they were filled with the usual souvenir items: t-shirts, knock-off handbags, some artwork, strange leather good, etc. But nothing was more prevalent than elephant pants.

I held firm for two nights, but on our last night in town, I did the thing I said I would never do. I bought elephant pants.

They were only $3.

I couldn’t resist the bargain.

And they did look awfully comfortable.

(To be perfectly honest, I bought three pair. But only one pair had elephants on it.)

When I got back to our boutique hotel in the old town, I immediately changed into my new pants. It was nirvana. They were amazing! So lightweight. So comfortable. And a good length for my long legs.

I swore I would never own elephant pants. Now, these are my go-to outfit when I get home from the embassy each day. As long as we are not headed out for drinks or dinner after work, I go from my dress and heels right to elephant pants and a tank top. They are more comfortable than any pair of shorts or capris and nothing says a night of happiness with a good book than comfy pants adorned with pachyderms.

Lesson learned: Don’t knock the elephant pants until you’ve lounged a minute or two in their heavenliness.

(Disclaimer: I do not have a single picture of me in these glorious pants, as they are pretty much just lazy-day wear for me, but I did find these on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Premium-Elephant-Trousers-Bohemian-Buddhist/dp/B00O7RG2UE. Apparently you can buy them for $20. At least I got a good deal as I ate crow.)

elephant pants

Mahout for a Day

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Picture this: Me, in over-sized, heavy cotton pajamas (jean blue), hair in two braids, sunglasses perched on the top of my head, barefoot and dirtier than I’ve been since I was probably eight years old. My face is caked in dried mud; my shirt has streaks of dirt running from collar to hem and my pants look like I’ve spent the afternoon riding a large mud-covered animal. But wait. One more detail. Beneath that dried on muck covering my face is a smile that goes from muddy ear to muddy ear. Why so happy about looking like Peanuts’ Pig-Pen? Because I just spent the entire day riding and tending to TJ, a lovely 35-year old elephant who became my pal for the day.

My day started with a 6:30AM alarm, which is normally much too early on a vacation, but it was no problem, as I’d been up for an hour already, lying in bed quietly, trying not to squirm too much as I looked forward to my day as a mahout. As soon as it was not ridiculous to be up and dressed, I hopped down to the restaurant of our adorable boutique hotel, settled nicely within the old city walls, and had some cornflakes, partially because I can’t start my day without breakfast and partially because I needed something to do until our 8AM excursion pickup arrived.

Thai Elephant Home, our destination for the day, is about an hour outside of Chiang Mai. The trip out was fascinating. I always love just driving through new places and I had to giggle to myself as I watched people bundled up in winter coats, beanies and scarves to brave the early morning 55 degree weather that cools the city in January and February. (We loved the weather! It was a perfect break from the constant heat and humidity of Kuala Lumpur.) Upon reaching TEH, we were handled bundles of clothes to change into, knapsacks to take along on the trip and bottles of water to keep us hydrated as we headed into the mountains.

Elephant assignments followed. Thad was given one of the largest, which frankly I was glad went to him. Even my “average” sized critter was enormous once I was mounted. The world looks different from atop an elephant head! I was assigned TJ, who brought up the rear of the line (we were a group of five, so awesomely small!) , which meant she wore a bell that tinkled all the way up the mountain and back down the other side, reminding me a bit of a horse-trek we took in Songpan, China, where the horse bell about drove us all nuts! Luckily, TJ’s bell was quieter and more soothing, plus I liked that it meant someone always knew where we were at!

With TEH, guests don’t ride elephants in baskets or with a trainer. Each visitor gets their own elephant for the day- solo. Of course, there are trainers who go along for safety (we learned command words, but TJ did whatever the heck she wanted and who was I to tell the elephant which way to go?! She knew the route better than I did!) TJ obediently bent down, allowing me to step on her front leg, at which point she stood, shooting me onto her back, and off we went. There was a rope behind me that I could hold onto going down hills, but otherwise, it was bareback all the way.

I have to say, there is no sensation in the world like having your bare feet pushed up against the skin of an elephant. To sit up there and just imagine how much muscle and power is beneath you, knowing that in the end, you have no control, is a few parts terrifying and a few parts exhilarating.

At the top of the mountain, we dismounted and had some lunch (banana leaf for the humans, grass/trees for the elephants) and then it was time to hit the spa. In the US, you’d excpect to pay $100 for a mud-mask and massage day at the spa, but we enjoyed it right out of the mountain with our elephants. TJ loved her mud-bath, getting coated from trunk to tail in a gooey mess, which made remounting her a bit petrifying. I was getting well-versed in her boosting me onto her back, but with both of us packed in slippery slime, I hit her back and kept going! Thank goodness for that one rope, which I clung to with all my might!

At the bottom of the mountain we forded a stream, dropping all sunglasses, cameras and phones on the far bank, and then headed back into the middle of the idle flow for bath time, much needed my animals and humans alike! Rolling off TJ into the river, I had my work cut out for me, trying to clean mud off an elephant! Luckily, she helped by provided extra rinse water from her trunk! It felt like something out of a cartoon, where the elephant serves as a shower.

As we headed back to camp, it had been a long day, which I loved, but I was honestly ready to be off TJ’s back. Horse saddle—soreness is one thing, but imagine that times about three, to factor in the width of an elephant. I was sore- everywhere! We did swing by an elephant drive-thru on the way back to buy sugar cane as a treat for the last kilometer of the journey. I held the bundles on my lap and TJ would lift her trunk up to get one each time she ran out. I only wish I had had more! An elephant can go through a bundle of sugar cane like a fat kid with a bag of Cheetos.

Animal-travel. Fauna-frolicking. Creature-trips.

I don’t know what the best clever name for my favorite kind of travel is, but whenever we are looking at new places to visit, one of the first things I do is figure out what animals are native to there and how I might possibly hold, cuddle, ride or basically fondle (in a good way!) whatever adorableness the country has to offer. Thailand, and specifically Chiang Mai, has a corner on the elephant business, so while we did visit our share of beautiful, gold-leafed temples and wandered night markets until we could no longer see straight, the highlight of my latest trip to Thailand was Thai Elephant Home, the small elephant camp (the camp is small, not the elephants) that allows visitors to be a mahout for a day- riding and tending to their own creature from sun-up until saddle-soreness makes one ready to call it a day.

“The very things that held you down are gonna carry you up and up and up.”
― Timothy Mouse, Dumbo

 

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Not a Pioneer

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If you are of a certain age (not to give anything away, but let’s say 30-something), you probably remember eagerly awaiting your turn on the one classroom computer to take your chances on Oregon Trail. (Actually, when I was in first grade, I remember having to go to the hallway to use the computer, which was on a rolling cart and had a Puff the Magic Dragon on the screen when it booted up. I have no recollection about whether that was part of a particular program or had to do with the operating system, but I loved that giant green dragon with smoke billowing from his nose. Computer time!)

I remember rushing through my phonics workbook so that I could get my name on the computer-user list early, as nothing was more exciting than taking chances on a virtual trek across the United States in search of the bountiful land promised by the Oregon territory.  (To be fair, I always rushed through my phonics workbook. It was utterly boring. And worse than the phonics pages themselves was the fact that the teacher then told me to color in all of the pictures when I was done. I remember being extremely annoyed by this request, as even at the young age of six I could detect busy work when it came my way. Coloring in the socks, fox and clocks in no way taught me that “cks” and “x” had the same sounds, but it did keep me from being first to the pillow pile with my library book!)

But I digress.

Oregon Trail.

I loved that game, green screen and all. Hunting was a huge part of surviving to the end of the game and I was an ace at taking down a bison or two (big and slow, no skills needed), but the squirrels and rabbits alluded my slowly typed “POW”s and “BANG”s. Wild game may have kept virtual-me alive long enough to fall victim to typhoid, dysentery and snakebites, but I’ve recently been reminded IRL (you know, gamer code for “in real life”—I’m hip like that!) that I was never cut out to be a pioneer.

I just don’t have a tough bone in my body.

A few weeks ago, I was home in Idaho for the holidays (the first time in years!) and was greeted by falling snow the very first morning. Luckily, I brought home my one pair of pants and my one hoodie so that I had something to wear to Target where I could pick up another sweater or two. (Right there you can realize how un-tough I am. My first stop Stateside was Target.) That beautiful snow that covered the ground through Christmas morning set the perfect scene for a winter wonderland holiday season, but it also dropped several feet of wet, sticky frozen mess on the deck/roof of my parent’s cabin in central Idaho. Not long after the wrapping paper had been bundled into the recycling bin and the last of the holiday treats were consumed, we headed north to do a bit of snow shoveling. I’ve never loved winter, but after spending nearly two years acclimatizing to a low of 75 degrees, when the thermometer in the car hit -7, I knew I was going to be in trouble! As soon as we got to the cabin, folks geared up for the cold weather, heading outside to shovel and snow blow, taking weight off the deck and making room for the roof snow to come off in sheets. Realizing I was in no way prepared to face the freezing temperatures, not in terms of clothing or mental toughness, I quickly volunteered to tend the home fires.

Literally.

With flames raging in the fireplace, I made it my task to make indoors nice and cozy so when the shovel-bearing folks came in, they’d be able to thaw their fingers and dry their layers. I also spent the morning entertaining the young ones who quickly got tired of the cold. (Snow is fun when it is above freezing, but below that mark, it doesn’t take long for a little body to chill all the way through, even with sleds calling their names.) Plus, on top of fire tending and child entertaining, I made lunch for the entire work crew. (Alright, those of you who know me well are starting to think this must all be a dream. That is more domestic duty than I’ve done in my entire life! But I promise, those options were far more enticing than facing the cold, wet snow in jeans and a hoodie.)

So, I am not tough when it comes to cold. Fact established. I would have died from exposure on the Oregon Trail.

(After complaining about being frozen for a few weeks, my vacation was over and it was time to head back to Kuala Lumpur, work and my “real” life. I was looking forward to some warm weather and eating on patios once again, but it seems my complaining bit me in the butt. Let’s call it temperature karma. An embassy near the equator with no air conditioner. That is what I found on Monday morning.  The details are long and uninteresting, but basically there were generator problems, which meant AC problems, which meant our office was 96 degrees on Monday. [Not an exaggeration.] Tuesday was not better. )

Temperature isn’t the only thing that would have prevented me from being a hardy pioneer. The first major obstacle to my successful reincarnation as an outdoorsy survivalist? Food. As a matter of fact, I would most surely have died of starvation before the elements got to me. I may have made it through the virtual continent crossing on wild game and my wits, but on a day to day basis, I’m more likely to starve than eat something strange.

Case in point: Today I ordered a chicken quesa from the food truck parked outside the embassy. (Chicken quesa= chicken meat and cheese in a soft taco shell, folded over like a taco.) I ordered it plain, figuring that minus the onions and sauce, it would be an acceptable lunch and get me through the afternoon. I was wrong. I am not sure how much actual chicken meat made it into my quesa (quesa is not a thing!), but I can tell you that I must have had close to half a chicken’s worth of chicken skin in that thing. I tried to discreetly pick it out, but when I pulled on a huge, slimy chunk, I almost lost what I had already eaten. Enough of that. I pulled the tortilla off and ate that and then supplemented today’s lunch with some chocolate. Not an option for pioneers!

In the end, it appears that I was just never meant for the life of crossing the continent in a covered wagon. If the food that was entirely “meat on the bone” didn’t cause me to starve to death, the inclement weather over the passes would definitely have done me in. (And don’t even think of the possibility of the two combining in a macabre Donner party-esque manner.) As a matter of fact, I’m not sure I survived the virtual trek too many times, even as I was sitting in a warm classroom, avoiding the busy work of phonics sheets. I’ll stick to my white-meat boneless chicken breasts, my humid Malaysian climate with the comforts of AC a few steps away, claiming the giant beanbag/pillow as my own personal reading corner.

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